I had Patricks tracks through the Alligator, but when I put together my route, I must have anticipated that I might be short of time on this long day ride, so my route was an abbreviated semi circle that would catch the high points and drop me farther south on NC264 instead of coming around full circle back north to NC64. I had a few things on the list accessed from NC264, nice thought, but I should have changed up and didnt.

The Alligator is comprised of low coastal woodland, small lakes and canals, and cropped fields with water control structures so that they can be flooded post harvest. I was hustling along the gravel while taking this all in, thousands of waterfowl everywhere in the flooded fields, when I caught a flash of white from my left and flattened myself over the top of the tank. I had run through the landing pattern of a flock of Tundra swans coming in from my left while I had been looking at the birds in the flooded fields on my right.

Huge birds, 7 wingspan, and they seemed low enough to reach up and touch if I had the inclination to touch a cruise missile, which I didnt. These birds must had been well acclimated to human activity, they never changed course, never flared. These birds are so numerous that they are legally hunted, and being an old waterfowler, I was thinking I could have put a dent in the population with my well worn 10ga. The Tundra swan is the bird that has traditionally wintered in this area, including Lake Mattamuskeet, as opposed to the Mute swan, considered an invasive specie, found in the Chesapeake and farther north.

I was racing along on the roads, all well maintained if not well used, nobody in here today, although I did run up on an old hunt camp near a boat landing that had a pickup parked in front. Sun low, shadows on the gravel, and I missed a turn on this maze of roads, not so good, and I had to stop to key up a GOTO that would take me down to a waypoint I had marked on the NC264 intersection.

I needed to get my butt outta there before full dark, but I realized that the new GPS routing was going to take me through the bombing range, whoops, and I let the damn thing recalculate about a hundred times as I made some turns, then some more turns, eventually finding NC264, the sun on the horizon, my sight seeing plans down the tubes. I took stock of exactly where I was, damn, a long ways from home, the temperature in free fall. One last photo across a big burn, and it was dark, just that quick.

Eastern Carolina, on the roads along the sounds, woodland and saltmarsh, peat bogs and swamps, not much human activity that would show a light or two, aint nuthin to speak of, my thoughts went back to Manteo, and that sandwich I didnt eat and that fuel I didnt pump.

I had a vague recollection of a fuel stop ahead, but it had been years ago, the exact number of miles left in the tank unknown. Roll the dice, cinch up tight, hit the switch for them flamethrowers, mash the gas, and with a big roost of shoulder gravel I was gone west towards LakeMattamuskeet through the blackest of freakin black, truly shocking in its intensity. Only one born for the trail would be foolish enough to be out there, and my thoughts had made a sea change from fried pie served in Carolina to whiskey served in Virginia.

I had a vague recollection of a fuel stop ahead, but it had been years ago, the exact number of miles left in the tank unknown. Roll the dice, cinch up tight, hit the switch for them flamethrowers, mash the gas, and with a big roost of shoulder gravel I was gone west towards Lake Mattamuskeet through the blackest of freakin black, truly shocking in its intensity. Only one born for the trail would be foolish enough to be out there, and my thoughts had made a sea change from fried pie served in Carolina to whiskey served in Virginia.
<!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id=ieooui></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]-->

Click to expand...

Drove around Lake Mattamuskett today and thru Elizabeth City, Columbia, Fairfield, Rose Bay, Swan Quarter, Englelhard, and Manteo. Of course that little tour of Eastern North Carolina would have been a lot better on a motorcycle and not in the company van.

hey Patrick, thanks again for the scouting, and then your routing help, plenty to see in that area. the Alligator is the place to get some photos of full feathered northern waterfowl if you happen to have the right camera, which i didn't.

As I started the ride this morning, man, it was cold, but I knew Id be looking at warmer temperatures throughout the day. Now I was facing the opposite side of the curve, and when I shifted into 6<sup>th</sup> at 75, running west as hard as I dared, the air felt like one of those Gatoraid baths on the sidelines after the big game. I was chilled already, five hours to go, wishing on that fleece left behind and even more lights pointing down the road. No yard lights, no headlights, no backlit glow on the horizon that would announce the next town, an eerie sensation, and not easily found in the Mid-Atlantic.

When I did finally see a set of tail lights ahead, I was running 80 and came up on an old pickup right quick, the lone occupant was only rolling along at a sedate 40-50mph, a much more sensible speed for the occasion. My thumb stretched over and pressed the switch to kill the LED light relay, but the WP cover on the switch was frozen, the switch wouldnt disengage, and those LED lights just flashed. Tried again, flash, a third time, flash, and by this time I was on his bumper. I dont know what he thought was coming at him with diesel locomotive lights flashing, but he swerved off the road, narrowly avoiding the water filled ditch. I zoomed past, and saw his headlights pop back on the road in the mirrors, moving even slower, likely a good UFO story forming.

There were some things I wanted to look at off NC264, couldnt in the dark, and after a long run west along Pamlico Sound, still no fuel stops open, I made the defining turn north on NC94, the dike road that divides Lake Mattamuskeet, at least I was pointed in the right compass direction. I had hoped to cross the lake in daylight, have to be next time, and after looking at the displays, I figured I had enough fuel to reach Columbia at the top of the road, north of the lake, the intersection with NC64, maybe 40 miles or more. I probably should have used a calculator, and adjusted the average MPG for some illegal speed, I guess yall can see where this is headed, my freakin brain was frozen.

Anyway, that was my excuse when I rolled into Columbia with the fuel light on. There happened to be a quick mart directly to the east, but when I pulled in there, every pump had a ragged NO GAS sign taped over the display, heck, there hadnt been fuel here for months, although the store was still open, 12packs exiting through the front door like a beer avalanche. There were three generations of career neer-do-wells hanging there, might have been discussing commodity futures, that is, the commodities important to their market. They had the look, and this was their place of business, except for detours through the county lockup or big house, checking in and out, like those places were some sort of weird time-shares. That fuel light was like a freakin railroad spike through my skull, but it wasnt the place to make inquiries, the projected menace just average, but still beyond my quota.

I rode around for a few blocks, found nothing, checked the GPS numbers again, not good, but set sail for Edenton anyway, over 25 miles away, and guaranteed fuel. This would be the ultimate test of fuel light range, might make it if I stayed with the speed limit, and I made a slow run west on NC64, before turning north on NC32/94 towards the Albemarle Sound bridge.

Looking north on this straight stretch of road, I could see cop cars on both sides of the road with all the blue lights flashing, and my first thought was big accident, but when I got closer, I realized it was a Friday night check point, common practice around the area, including Virginia. Its not a successful night without issuing a bunch of citations, making a handful of arrests, and it always surprises me at the number of criminals that blunder into these stops, gets your name in the local newspaper every time.

Light traffic, only three cars in my lane when I stopped, so I was in front of the young North Carolina State Trooper pretty quick, you wont find veterans manning a Friday night stop. This was one big dude, 64 with body armor, NFL defensive end size, and he said Drivers license and registration, while holding out his hand. His voice had a raspy rumble, like a grader blade pushing #3 stone, and I doubt he got much of an argument when he made a request.

Officer, my license is in my shirt pocket, Ill have to pull over to get it out.

He paused, looked me over, looked the bike over, and said

Where you from, Son?

Eastern Virginia, Officer, Im headed home.

Well, Son, yall have a safe trip, and I was riding again, he never realized he was talking to someone three times his age. With all the years under my belt, I was supposed to be at home on the couch watching Jeopardy, not on a hypothermic moto adventure at a traffic check point in BF east Carolina.

As for that fuel light, they make them things extra bright to grab your attention, and the damn thing sure had mine.

What are you using for a rotor up frunt ? Are the forks DRZ? Wanted to know becous I'm transplanting DRZ forks to my KLR Trying to use the KLR wheel 08. Sum guys like the SV rotor on there KLR so I was thinking of trying it

What are you using for a rotor up frunt ? Are the forks DRZ? Wanted to know becous I'm transplanting DRZ forks to my KLR Trying to use the KLR wheel 08. Sum guys like the SV rotor on there KLR so I was thinking of trying it

Thanks for the info. I do respect your bike. You made it yours, built it for the way you ride. Your build and outhers are an inspration.The KLR fits my needs in meny ways but falls short in outhers so Im filling in the gaps to make it mine.The KLR wheel is a little harder to setup on those forks but it looks like a stronger wheel than the DRZ so im going for it. Do you have a closeup of your caliper bracket ?

The KLR wheel is a little harder to setup on those forks but it looks like a stronger wheel than the DRZ so im going for it. Do you have a closeup of your caliper bracket ?

Click to expand...

shop built caliper adapter...

the KLR wheel/DRZ fork swap must be well documented. there is an advantage to running the large diameter conventional rotor with a decent caliper on a DS bike, as opposed to the generally smaller brake assembly found on a dedicated dirt bike.

That bit of blue light excitement behind me, and I was across the bridge into Chowan County, still a ways from Edenton, couldn&#8217;t be but a few drops of fuel left, and I was running the speed limit, or less, my lot for all those earlier miles of 25 over. Worse, my impromptu navigating failed me, missed a turn, but not too long a backtrack, and I wasted a few more ounces of fuel. I didn&#8217;t even want to think about how many fuel light miles I&#8217;d traveled, the bright side was that I was somehow still rolling.

I&#8217;d been through Edenton previously, thought I remembered a gas station on the way up to NC17, so I turned right at the T intersection in town, whew, made it, except that my right turn decision took me out of town, no fuel stop to be seen, damn. I made a U turn in the middle of the road, back through town, saw a quick mart sign on my right, and at that exact instant the motor hiccupped. I grabbed the clutch, hit the kill switch, and coasted the last 100yds to the pumps, completely out of fuel, engine dead.

There were two cars on the opposite side of the pumps, the first a beat ricer, the driver a twenty something with a big black ink B2TB neck tat, yeah, look it up, that skinny weak chinned dude was about as bad as a freakin&#8217; jelly donut. He was proud of that tat though, it could have been -50 and he wouldn&#8217;t have been wearing anything to cover it up. Tat or no tat, his street cred would never rise above zero, and his description would always contain the words &#8220;loopy&#8221; and &#8220;needy&#8221;.

The other driver was older, fueling a new Civic, buzz cut, I&#8217;d have been safe betting he was retired military, plenty in the area, and he had a quizzical look when I arrived whisper quiet, no motor. I pumped 5.46 gallons into my 5 gallon tank, and some day when I want to waste some time, I&#8217;ll try to get a handle on how far I had ridden with the fuel light on, a good long ways, for sure.

The Civic guy was curious, and said &#8220;Broke down?&#8221;

I went on to explain what had happened, and when I mentioned where I was headed, he had a damn good approximation of that location too. The guy had genuine concern for my well being, can&#8217;t be faked, and bottom line, that&#8217;s retired military, and that&#8217;s also Carolina&#8230;some fine people found thereabouts. He wished me well before driving off, and I tugged the cinches, checked the snaps and Velcro one last time.

I was inbound, fueled back up, no reason for slow any longer, and as quick as I could run through the gears, I was past the NC17 intersection, nerves jangled after a close call with a left turning SUV, a mystery how a driver can&#8217;t immediately see all those bright lights on the bike. Blind or impaired, one way or another.

A shot north now, in a deepening cold, and I could see frost forming on the grass. The speed limit was 70 on this much constructed and reconstructed road, and I didn&#8217;t feel bad about 80 again as I ran for the Virginia state line. I could see the prison lights on the horizon near ElizabethCity, then I was back in the Commonwealth, a step closer. I took the cutoff at Deep Creek, the same way I had come down, except now I used I664, crossing the James River again, and up to I64, the cold ride a blur as I clicked off the milestones.

The first real stop since fuel was the toll booth at the York River bridge, where I shut down to take my gloves off and fumble around in the tank bag for some toll money. The toll booth lady was patient, but finally said &#8220;You look a little cold&#8221;, y&#8217;all wouldn&#8217;t be funnin&#8217; me now would ya? Every puddle and ditch was frozen over, the grass and roofs white with frost. My hands were cold and I dropped my change under the bike, forget it, and I was buttoned back up, gone outta there.

I found all the yard lights on, a welcome home sign, hot food, a scalding hot toddy, light on the tea, heavy on the whiskey, and a roaring oak fire going on the hearth. When my wife said &#8220;You&#8217;re home late, any problems?&#8221;, I just relied &#8220;No Darlin&#8217;, pretty routine&#8221;.

Now, before anyone says I just told a big fat fib, it was a routine day&#8230;for me, the time passing in a high velocity dream, if those dreams were all wired, filled with craziness, the soundtrack a soaring redlined motor.